Welcome to Wonderland #4

by Chris Grabenstein

  “I hear the Fun Castle has, like, glow-in-the-dark monster holes,” said Jack.

  “And a fog machine plus all kinds of spooky music,” added Bruce.

  “I heard there’s a half-price coupon in this week’s Beach Bargain Comber magazine,” said Gloria.

  “Huh,” said Jack. Then he checked the face of his phone. “Whoa. Look at the time. I gotta go. I promised my dad I’d help him do this thing.”

  “Me too,” said Bruce.

  They both took off running.

  “I’ll finish the round with you,” said Gloria.

  “Thanks.”

  We were about to tee up on hole seven, Seymour the Seasick Sea Turtle, when Grandpa ran onto the course, waving a letter.

  “This is it, kids!” he shouted. “It’s the break we’ve been waiting for all these years! If only your grandmother were here to see it, P.T.! She’d be spinning her Hula-Hoop like crazy!”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We made it to the big time, kiddo! We’re on the short list!”

  “And here’s the best part,” said Grandpa between gasps for air. “Disney’s kicked out of the competition this year!”

  He was so excited he was hyperventilating. Gloria and I helped him sit down on a concrete alligator near Stinky Beard’s treasure chest.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Grandpa kept rambling and waving that sheet of paper. “All the big boys are officially eliminated. Disney, SeaWorld, Universal Studios, Busch Gardens—they’re all out of the running. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, kids! My last chance to, finally, make all my dreams come true and show the whole world that Walt Wilkie is just as big a name as Walt Disney!”

  I finally figured out what Grandpa was so excited about.

  The letter he was waving around came from Florida Fun in the Sun magazine. Every year it sponsors a “Hottest Family Attraction in the Sunshine State” contest. Walt Disney World always wins. Except when Universal Studios, SeaWorld, or Busch Gardens does. Smaller attractions, like the Wonderland Motel, really don’t stand much of a chance up against the big boys.

  But it sounded like this year the magazine was shaking things up. The mega attractions were automatically eliminated. The contest would be focused on smaller places, like us!

  “Oy,” said Grandpa, taking off his golf cap so he could swipe away some of the sweat. “I need a Cel-Ray. Maybe a bag of Cheez-Its. My head is spinning. This is the biggest thing to happen to me since the day your grandmother and I opened up and stuck a striped straw into our first orange plastic ball filled with OJ.”

  “Let’s go inside, where it’s air-conditioned,” I suggested.

  Gloria and I each grabbed an elbow and escorted Grandpa into the lobby.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Mom.

  “Never better!” said Grandpa, triumphantly bopping the soft drink machine in the sweet spot that magically made a Cel-Ray can drop into the bin—without feeding it any money.

  “Dad?” said Mom from behind the counter. “You promised. No more free soda!”

  “I’m cel-e-brating with Cel-Ray.”

  While Grandpa chugged his carbonated salad juice, I scanned the letter from Florida Fun in the Sun.

  “This is awesome!” I said. “We really do have a chance!”

  I passed the letter to Gloria.

  “Definitely,” she said after she read the first few paragraphs.

  “What’s going on, you guys?” asked Mom.

  “Florida Fun in the Sun magazine has changed the rules for its ‘Hottest Family Attraction’ contest this year,” I explained.

  “The focus is on smaller attractions,” added Gloria, who was still studying the letter.

  “Disney’s out!” hollered Grandpa. Then he burped. “Hip, hip, hooray! This is what I’ve been waiting for since 1971! A chance to show the world that Florida has two Walts in it!”

  Actually, there were probably a lot of men named Walter living in the Sunshine State, but I understood Grandpa’s point. Winning the contest would cool a nearly fifty-year-old burn and put Grandpa on equal footing with his longtime rival. Sort of. Well, at least he’d have a trophy that symbolically said that, for one brief shining moment, Walt Wilkie was just as important to Florida tourism as Walt Disney.

  My grandfather, as you’ve probably figured out by now, is the most important man in my life. He’s taught me so much—from how to swim to how to spin a story to how to toss a peanut into my mouth and never miss. I had to do everything I could to make my grandfather’s biggest dream come true. We were not throwing away our shot. In my head, I heard triumphant music blaring. The kind of stuff they play in movies about scrappy boxers.

  But then Gloria burst my bubble.

  “Uh-oh,” she said, turning the letter over and reading the stuff I’d skipped. “You guys didn’t read all the fine print.”

  “They’re looking for the best things to do with your kids in Florida,” said Gloria, really stressing the “to do” bit.

  “So?” said Grandpa, his mouth full of crushed Cheez-It crumbs. “There’s plenty to do here! We’ve got the Stinky Beard Putt-Putt course….”

  Gloria and I looked at each other.

  Jack and Bruce hadn’t been too thrilled with their most recent round on the course.

  “Then we have all the statues for people to gawk at,” said Grandpa. “And Jimbo grills the best burgers on the beach. Plus, on weekends, you kids put on shows. Freddy the Frog karaoke. Behind-the-scenes movie tours. Treasure hunts—”

  A guest came into the lobby and cut him off.

  “Excuse me,” said the man. “Do you folks have any brochures for the Fun Castle? My kids saw that airplane with the banner and they’re really looking for something fun to do this afternoon….”

  Mom smiled and handed him a glossy pamphlet from her stack on the counter.

  “There’s a coupon in the back,” she said.

  “Fantastic,” said the man. “We’ve been here four days, and the kids are getting restless.”

  “Argh,” said Grandpa, squinting like a pirate. “But have they tried Stinky Beard’s Putt-Putt course?”

  “Yes, sir. Six times.”

  “Hey,” I said, thinking maybe if I spun a quick story, our goofy golf course would seem more exciting, “do your kids know that Stinky Beard was the smelliest pirate that ever sailed the seven seas? In fact, he smelled so bad that one time when he was sitting in the sand on the beach, a cat came along and buried him.”

  The man smiled. Politely.

  “Cute story. Well, thanks again for the brochure.”

  He dashed out the door.

  Because there wasn’t enough to do at the Wonderland!

  “Okay,” I said. “I admit it. If we want to win, we have to up our game.”

  “Hang on,” said Gloria, squinting at the letter again. “This year, Florida Fun in the Sun magazine has joined forces with TripsterTipster dot com.”

  “Hippy-dippy who?” asked Grandpa.

  “It’s a website and app, Dad,” said Mom. “A lot of our guests make their reservations with it.”

  Grandpa swatted at the air. “App, schmapp. In my day, you took a reservation, you wrote it down on a three-by-five index card, and filed it in a tin box. Alphabetically!”

  “Well, Dad, times have changed….”

  Gloria went back to reciting the rules. “There will be three rounds of judging. First comes the local competition. That would be us against everybody else who made the short list on St. Pete Beach. If we win, we move up to the Tampa Bay regionals. And if we win there, we’re on our way to the Florida state finals.”

  “We have to win all three!” said Grandpa. “They only give us little guys a chance every fifty years. I may not even be here when they do it again fifty yea
rs from now!”

  “Yes, you will,” I said along with Gloria and Mom.

  “You’re right,” said Grandpa, taking another swig from his soda can. “This Cel-Ray keeps me young. That Dr. Brown was a genius. Ten times better than Dr. Oz or Dr. Phil!”

  “So how does the judging work?” asked Mom.

  “Let’s see,” said Gloria, scanning the letter. “Okay. In approximately two weeks, a panel of three judges will schedule a visit to check out our top activities.”

  “You guys have a week off from school then,” said Mom, checking the big family calendar she keeps behind the counter.

  “Excellent,” I said. “We’ll put on our best shows ever that day.”

  “Wait,” said Gloria. “There’s more. ‘Prior to the judges’ visit, a mystery shopper will also visit your establishment.’ Their vote will count for forty percent of our final score.”

  “What’s a mystery shopper?” I asked, because it sounded like a spy heading into Walmart to buy invisible ink.

  “A mystery shopper is typically a person employed to pose as a customer in order to evaluate the quality of customer service,” Gloria explained.

  “When do they show up?” I asked.

  “Anytime.”

  “How do you know it’s them?”

  “You don’t. That’s the mystery.”

  “Seriously? Could they be here already?”

  Gloria shook her head. “No. This says the undercover critic will ‘visit your attraction sometime during the two-week period between your receipt of this letter and the official visit by the panel of judges.’ ”

  “When did you receive the letter?” I asked Grandpa.

  “Just now. Gus the mail carrier handed it to me. Plus a whole stack of catalogs. Why does this Eddie Bauer fellow think I need a puffy parka? This is Florida, not Oregon!”

  We all just nodded. Sometimes Grandpa veers off topic.

  “Mom?” I said. “We need to keep an eye on every new guest who shows up during the next fourteen days. One of them could be our mystery shopper.”

  “Should I ask them when they check in?” she wondered.

  “Bad idea, Ms. Wilkie,” said Gloria. “Mystery shoppers prefer to remain anonymous.”

  “Right. Gotcha.”

  Just then, as if on cue, the phone rang. Mom answered it and took down a new reservation. The second she hung up, the phone rang again. Mom took another reservation.

  Coincidence? I sure didn’t think so.

  “Booyah!” I shouted. “One of those two new reservations has to be our mystery shopper! They both called right after we officially received our letter. The mail carrier probably texted the magazine.”

  “Maybe,” said Mom, sounding super skeptical. She does that sometimes.

  “Who are we competing against?” I asked Gloria.

  “Let’s see.” She found the list. “Here we go. The top family-fun attractions in St. Pete Beach are: Captain Sharktooth’s Pirate Cruise, fishing off the pier at John’s Pass, the Wonderland Motel—”

  “Woo-hoo!” shouted Grandpa. “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

  When he was done fist pumping, Gloria read on.

  “Splash Down Water Park at the Seawinds Resort…”

  “Ooh,” I said accidentally. “That place is awesome.”

  Grandpa shot me a look.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He waved his hand at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll add a Slip ’N Slide—roll it out near the dolphin fountain. You kids can make up a story about how slippery dolphin spit is. The Seawinds won’t stand a chance.”

  “Who else made the short list?” asked Mom.

  “Fort De Soto,” said Gloria.

  “Bor-ring!” said Grandpa. “It’s a state park.”

  “A very beautiful state park,” said Mom.

  “Well, good thing this isn’t a beauty pageant,” said Grandpa. “Anybody else?”

  “Just one more,” Gloria told him. “The Fun Castle on Gulf Boulevard.”

  “What?” I said. “They’re brand-new. They just opened.”

  “They were probably grandfathered in,” said Grandpa, which made me smile (because he’s my grandfather). “They’re new here on St. Pete Beach, but everybody already knows what they have to offer, because they’ve had a place over in Tampa for years. It doesn’t matter. We’re gonna win, baby, win! Right, P.T.?”

  I looked at Grandpa, and for maybe the first time in my life, I was speechless.

  I didn’t want to let him down.

  I also didn’t want to see him get hurt.

  “Well,” I said, “we definitely could win….”

  “Uh-uh-uh. Don’t ‘could’ on me, kid. Employ the power of positive thinking. If you can dream it, you can do it.”

  Gloria nodded. “That sounds like something Walt Disney probably said.”

  “He might’ve said it first, but I’m saying it now, because I dream when I’m not even sleeping. The Wonderland is going to win this contest. I guarantee it!”

  I had never heard Grandpa sound so stoked about anything, except, maybe, his ride-along railroad, which he had shut down in the 1980s and still hoped to bring back “one day soon.”

  “But to win, we need to think big,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “We need to think bold. We need something boffo.” He snapped his fingers. “Theme rooms!”

  “What?” said Mom.

  “Tell me: What’s the most popular room on the property?”

  “Easy,” I said. “The Cassie McGinty Suite.”

  That was a suite of rooms on the second floor where the famous movie star had stayed while filming Beach Party Surf Monkey at the Wonderland. The walls were decorated with movie posters and paraphernalia. It was like the Hard Rock Cafe, except with surfboards and movie props instead of electric guitars and Kiss costumes.

  “Correctomundo!” said Grandpa. “So here’s my big new boffo idea: We remodel a few rooms. Turn them into theme rooms. Make it fun to go to bed. For instance, how about the Banana Cream Pie Room? It’ll be based on the Banana Shack’s most popular dessert, complete with piecrust crown molding, a whipped-cream ceiling, a circular bed in a pie-pan frame, and dollops-of-cream pillows!”

  “Won’t that cost a lot of money?” asked Mom.

  “Probably,” said Grandpa. “But it will be worth every penny. You know why, Wanda? You gotta spend money to make money!”

  “Ooh,” said Grandpa, “I got another one.”

  He held up both hands to frame his vision.

  “The Mermaid Room. It’ll be like sleeping underwater, but without the drowning.”

  “Remind me,” said Grandpa. “When are these judges coming?”

  “Two. Weeks.” Gloria, Mom, and I said it all together.

  Grandpa nodded. “And the mystery shopper person?”

  “When are those two new reservations coming?” I asked Mom.

  “Next Friday,” said Mom. “Both of them.”

  “Oh, boy,” said Grandpa. “I need to call Billy. Pronto!”

  “Who’s Billy?” asked Mom.

  “A contractor my buddy Johnny Adamo recommended. Room 106 is vacant. It’d make a great pie room.”

  “But we’re being judged on activities, Grandpa, not rooms,” I said. “We need to come up with fun things for people to do.”

  “You ever sleep in a banana cream pie? What could be more fun than that?”

  “But only one family will be able to enjoy the theme room,” said Gloria. “We should also focus on activities for all our guests.”

  “Fine,” said Grandpa. “We’ll upgrade the shuffleboard court.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “Shuffleboard is boring.”

  “And,” added Gloria, “it’s also for old people. No offense.”

&n
bsp; “None taken,” said Grandpa. “Fine. Forget shuffleboard. Come up with a new idea, kids. Something hip and trendy. I can’t do all the brainstorming around here. It’ll give me heartburn.”

  “Well, maybe we could put in a Spikeball set,” I suggested.

  “It’s the hottest new beach and backyard game, according to the Today show,” said Gloria. “And, of course, Mark Cuban loved it on Shark Tank.”

  “What is it?” asked Mom.

  “You bounce a ball off a Hula-Hoop-sized net,” I said. “Your opponent bounces it back.”

  “If they miss,” said Gloria, “you score. It’s like beach volleyball with a trampoline instead of a net.”

  “And,” I said, snapping my fingers the way Grandpa does when he’s having a big idea, “we could add a bunch of mini trampolines so the players can bounce around, too!”

  “Boom!” said Grandpa. “Keep ’em coming, kids! I’m gonna go call Billy! He needs to start whipping up plaster for the Banana Cream Pie Room ceiling!”

  Grandpa was so happy he practically skipped out of the lobby.

  “We should probably check out the other attractions on the short list,” suggested Gloria. “Try to hone our competitive edge. Don’t forget, prestigious awards can do more to boost top-line sales than almost any other PR vehicle.”

  “Besides,” I added, “Grandpa is pumped.”

  “You guys?” said Mom.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?” asked Gloria.

  “Making Dad so happy.”

  “Well,” I said, “let’s just hope we can actually win this thing for him.”

  “Of course we can,” said Mom. “We’ve got a secret weapon: you two!”

  Sheesh, I thought. Not like there’s any pressure or anything.

  Gloria and I headed out into the sunshine. It was so muggy my eyeballs fogged up.

  “Is your dad home?” I asked.

  “He’s up in his room,” said Gloria. “Editing his demo reel.”